


Weekend at Mycroft’s

by TheGriefPolice



Series: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson: Little Detectives [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: AU, AU - Classifications, AU - Littles are known, AU - cannon divergent, Accidents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom!Mycroft, Hurt John, John-centric, Littles Are Known, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sherlock is a good big brother, caregiver!greg, little!john, little!sherlock, pull-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-10-12 08:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGriefPolice/pseuds/TheGriefPolice
Summary: As agreed, John is to spend the weekend at Mycroft’s. John’s a nervous wreck, despite the day he had spent with Greg and Sherlock after his Drop. But now he’s worried about not being able to get into his Little space willingly and messing the whole weekend up for Sherlock.Somehow, Greg and Mycroft always know what to do to help. And Sherlock adds his help where he can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “In about a week~”
> 
> Yeah yeah, I know, I suck. But I’ve really been struggling with what I want to do for this one. Anyway, here ya go! Enjoy some more little John!!!
> 
> He’s my little shy boiiii~

An alarm clock blaring woke John with a start as he reached over to slam the snooze button down.

Thursday mornings.

But this didn’t feel like a normal Thursday morning, to be honest. Normally, Thursday mornings left John sluggish and tired, worn from a week at the clinic and any investigations Sherlock had dragged him on, praying for the weekend. But today, John felt refreshed, ready to start the day. And, as far as John was willing to admit, it had nothing to do with the upcoming weekend.

John rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom. The apartment was cleaner after Mrs Hutson’s request, but it almost seemed as if Sherlock was damned and determined to clutter it right back up. Newspaper clippings were tapped to the wall, red marker circling headlines and by-lines. A file box has been scattered across the floor, papers thrown half-hazardly in every direction.

Finally John’s eyes landed on Sherlock as he sat in his chair, glaring at the mess. 

“Should I call the police? It appears we’ve been burgled.”

Sherlock sent a glad towards John. “Very funny.” Sherlock stood up, taking a few paces forward to stare at the wall. “Case came in last night.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s going to be dangerous. It may even get us killed.”

John smirked. “Sounds like we better get started.”

And that had even surprised John. He hadn’t been too eager for cases lately, resigned to the fact that there would always be another murderer and another job, and that solving this one case won’t stop another from plopping down into their laps. But today, that didn’t matter. Today was another day to put another bad guy where he belonged.

The case, it turned out, wasn’t really as fun as Sherlock had clearly hoped. What had seemed like an intricate working of murders, theft, muggings, and assaults on diplomats turned out to be a home-grown terrorist. It hadn’t taken Sherlock more than a day to figure it all out. John didn’t really understand what Sherlock was describing as “dull.” The whole thing had sent John’s head reeling as he tried to follow Sherlock’s quick thinking. John could remember every bone, vein, and artery in the human body, but don’t ask him to keep track of Sherlock’s off-roading train of thought.

Finally, as John unlocked the door to their flat, walked up the stairs, and flipped down on the couch, John was given a moment to breath. He let his eyes close as he focused on his breathing and the comfortable couch surrounding him. He was almost sure he would have fallen asleep right then had it not been for the sudden shock of Sherlock kicking the sofa.

“What are you doing, loading about?” Sherlock asked, taking off his scarf but leaving his coat as he walked toward the kitchen.

“We’ve been at it since Thursday morning, Sherlock, I was just taking a rest.” John sat up on his elbow with a groan.

Sherlock pulled at a piece of paper on the mantel, yanking it away from the knife it had been stabbed with. “Yes, well, that’s why we need to get ready.”

John watched as Sherlock tossed the paper to the side, gliding to the floor. John sighed, trying not to think of the mess that would have to be cleaned up. 

“What do you mean?”

Sherlock pulled a phone—John’s phone, the Doctor realized—out of his pocket and chucked it over at John.

Stumbling over his hands for a moment, John was able to catch the phone just in time, saving it from a fated broken screen. Deciding to save time from telling Sherlock to stop taking his things without permission, John looked down at his phone, hitting the unlock button to see a text pulled up.

Be there @ 8  
-Greg

It was then that John remembered the deal he had made. It almost seemed like a life-time ago. A forgotten dream with only fragments here and there to grasp as like smoke. 

He was to spend the entire weekend with Greg and Mycroft as a Little.

John had never been aware that he could feel terrified and excited at the same time—not in this way, at least. 

“You’ll want to pack a bag.” Sherlock said as he took a bite of an apple. John didn’t want to think about where he had gotten it from; they hadn’t been shopping in weeks.

John let out a sigh, nodding as he stood up. He slid the phone back into his front pocket and walked up the stairs. 

What was he even supposed to pack? Would they want him to dress in his own clothes the whole time? He was wearing Sherlock’s because Greg had wanted John comfortable while he was Little. How was he even supposed to get into his Little space? Outside of that drop, he’d never been Little. Not really, anyway. He had pushed it away for so long, he wasn’t even sure if it would come voluntarily.

“Shut up.” Sherlock said from the doorway.

John’s head snapped up, scowling at his flat mate. “I didn’t say anything. And this is my room!”

“You’re thinking too much; it’s interfering with my own thoughts.” Sherlock walked over to John’s wardrobe and yanked the doors open. “Pack comfortable clothes and your toiletries.”

John would have gotten after Sherlock for taking such liberties, but John was honestly too tired to truly fight back at the moment. 

John grabbed his toothbrush and a bar of soap, stuffing them into their own plastic bags before he placed them into a duffle Sherlock had filled with clothes. John was surprised to see one of his favorite shirts on the top. Had Sherlock really paid attention to such a small detail?

John zipped the bag and threw it over his shoulder as he walked back down the stairs. Sherlock was already waiting, fiddling with his violin. John plopped down on the couch, pulling out his phone. It was quarter-til, but John had already revived a text from Greg saying he was on his way. It would only be a few minutes before he got here.

John checked his blog, read through some of the comments without responding to any of them, then moved on to his email. He knew he was simply filling time with every app he clicked on, but he was too stressed to figure out what else to do with his time. He contemplated looking up Little blogs, maybe find out what other people did when they were Little for him to try, but decided against it. 

John looked up when there was a knock on the door, meeting Sherlock’s eyes. He seemed excited, placing down his violin and rushing down the stairs. John stood up and followed much slower, watching as Sherlock yanked the door open.

“Hey! You two ready?” Greg held his arms open, Sherlock rushing into the hug. 

Greg’s eyes looked up as Sherlock let go, landing on John as he stood statue-still on the stairs.

“Well?” Greg asked with a smile. “You ready for a fun weekend?”

John nodded, giving a half-hearted smile. He flopped down the last few steps and followed Sherlock out the door. Greg flipped the lock before walking over to his car and holding open the back door for John and Sherlock to crawl into. 

John squeezes the bad to his chest, eyes locked on the window so he would t have to make eye contact with anyone else in the car. He almost felt like crying with as nervous as he was. It wouldn’t be his first time with Greg and Mycroft, so maybe that will help. And Sherlock was there too, so John would just have to follow his lead. Simple, really.

“John-John.” Sherlock whispered, poking John’s shoulder.

John looked up, watching as Sherlock looked down at his duffle and poked it.

Confused, John held the zipper, silently asking if Sherlock wanted him to open the bag. Sherlock nodded with a goofy smile John was starting to associate only with Little Sherlock. John unzipped the pocket and reached his hand in, pulling out the immediately identifiable fabric.

It was his blanket. The cloth that had started this whole mess. The one he thought he had thrown away. John realized Sherlock must have found it and pulled it out without telling him. But that was months ago. Did Sherlock really hold on to it for that long just because he thought John liked it?

Right then, John didn’t care. 

He pressed his face into the blanket, rubbing his nose right on the jumping sheep for several moments before coming up for air.

Sherlock always seemed to be looking out for John when they were Little, and it made John wonder if the same thing happened when they were Big and it just went unnoticed. John made a mental note to start watching for such things more carefully.

John took in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting go. Maybe this weekend would be okay.


	2. Ready for bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a tad short, but I wanted to get on to the really cute shit and this had to be done first! Enjoy!!!

WaM 2

“Sherlock, you need to calm down, please.” Greg scolded.

Mycroft had decided it wouldn’t be right for John to sleep in one of the guest rooms while he was Little. Something about the other rooms being too Big for such a Little boy. John wasn’t sure how he liked that. But, either way, it meant he was to be set up in Sherlock’s room. 

Mycroft had pulled out the trundle bed and was dressing it as Greg was trying to dress Sherlock into pajamas. John stood stock-still against the wall, blanket clutched to his chest. 

Sherlock ran over to his dresser, pulling at the first drawer. He reached in and pulled out a pair of pajamas. “I wanna wear these!”

Greg sighed, shifting his weight to one leg crossing his arms. “You can wear those, but you need to calm down and stay still to get dressed.” 

Sherlock smiled, something John immediately recognized as his trouble-making face. A moment later, Sherlock turned his head and it was gone. It took John a moment to realize that their eyes had met.

“Do we have anything for John?” Mycroft asked, straightening his back as he smoothed out the blankets on the trundle.

“I was thinking we could take him tomorrow to get him some of his own clothes.” Greg said as he pulled Sherlock’s shirt off. “He can just borrow some of Sherlock’s again for tonight.”

John balled his fist around his blanket. What was he doing here, again? Why did he agree to this. He was just going to mess everything up and ruin the whole thing. He looked down at his blanket, squeezing it tightly to his chest. He didn’t even have clothes for the night but his run down T-shirt and cut up sweat pants. Nothing cute like what Sherlock had, or fit for the Little he was supposed to be. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. It was all a mistake. He was just going to mess everythi—

“John, hey buddy, hey.” Mycroft said, kneeling down with hand on John’s shoulders, effectively pulling John out of his spiraling thoughts. “Is something wrong?”

John’s eyes grew hot, fat tears blurring his vision. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

“I think he’s just overwhelmed, My.” Greg said as he pulled the night shirt over Sherlock’s head.

“Oh, buddy,” Mycroft bent his head to get a look at John’s face, looking up with a sympathetic smile. “Can I hug you?”

John wiped at his eyes again with a shrug. Why was he crying? Why did it feel so hard to talk?

Warm eyes wrapped around him and John fell into it stiffly. He wanted to fall apart and cry, but that’s not what adults did. And John was an adult. 

Shifting the blanket in his arms, his resolve on that fact faltered. 

“Let’s get you dressed and into bed.” Mycroft said, reaching out to grab an offered set of pajamas from Greg.

“Sherlock, in bed please.” Greg said as Sherlock darted for a toy on the other side of the room.

John watched him until he felt a small tug at his blanket, pulling his gaze to Mycroft. 

“Do you think we could se this down for a moment whilst we change shirts?” Mycroft asked.

John’s stomach rolled at the thought, but it was stupid to cry over setting a blanket down. He was Big, and he didn’t need the blanket anyway. But the blanket being lightly rugged out of his grasp almost made him fall into a fit of tears. 

Mycroft quickly sat the blanket to the side and pulled off John’s shirt, replacing it with a colorful long-sleeve night shirt that was soft against John’s skin. It was light and easy to move in, but still thick enough to keep him warm. Little clothes were kind of awesome.

Looking over the shirt was enough of a distraction for John to forget about his blanket until it was being gently pressed back against his chest. John hugged it, letting Mycroft pull off his pants. 

“We may want him in some extra pants.” Greg said from across the room.

John looked up to see Greg helping Sherlock put toys in the bin by the window.

Mycroft nodded out of the corner of John’s eye, turning to look at the boy. “Do you want to wear a pull-up tonight?”

John knew better than to say no, but his gut fell at the idea of wearing anything like that. Adults don’t wear that stuff. Doctors don’t wear that stuff. Army men don’t wear that stuff. And those were all things John was.

“I want a pull-up!” Sherlock yelled.

Once again, John was pulled to where Sherlock stood. Sherlock has his hands in the air with a wide smile across his face.

“Sherlock, I don’t think—“ Greg started, only to be cut off by Mycroft.

“I think that would be a good idea.” 

John watched Mycroft and Greg share some kind of look, the one that was a whole conversation John just didn’t understand.

Mycroft then stood up, pulling on a drawer from the dresser and handing a blue-printed pull-up to Greg. He walked over to John with the other, holding it out.

“Aren’t the cool. They have spaceships.” Mycroft said, pointing to a few on the front.

John nodded, looking around Mycroft to see Sherlock stepping into the underwear Greg had stretched and held out.

Mycroft was doing the same thing, holding the open pull-up for John to step into. John pulled off his underwear and held on to Mycroft shoulder as he lifted each leg into the underwear and left Mycroft pull it up to his waist and snap into place. It was quickly followed with trousers and John was shuffled towards bed.

John laid down, letting Mycroft pull the blankets up to his shoulders. 

“We got a big day tomorrow, so manly sure you two get some sleep.” Greg said as they walked out of the room. Mycroft hovered for a moment before flipping the switch and closing the door.

The ceiling was alight with glow-in-the-dark stars and a projected image of the solar system covered the wall to John’s right from a night-light plugged into the wall.

“We’re gonna have lots of fun, John-John. Promise.” Sherlock sat up on his elbow to look over the edge of his bed and down at John. “Okay?”

John took in a big breath and nodded his head. It was just a test, it doesn’t have to be forever. If John didn’t like it, he could leave. 

John closed his eyes as he heard Sherlock lay back down. The thing was, John didn’t think he wanted that. In the back of his head, as terrified as he was to mess everything up, he wanted it to work. He wanted this family. More than he even with his own had been functional.


	3. Shopping trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go again!

WaM 3

Being woken up was a different experience when it was a person lightly shaking his shoulder and not a blaring alarm. John cracked his eyes open to be greeted by Greg’s smile. 

“Morning, sunshine. Time to get up and start the day.” 

John stretched, letting out a groan. A quick look at Sherlock’s night stand told John it was just past eight. That was strange, John thought, he hadn’t slept that well—or that long—in a while.

“Let’s get up and get dressed. We want to get everything done before this afternoon, yeah?”

John nodded, though he didn’t know why. He didn’t even know what they were going to be doing today. But Greg was so cheery it was hard to not just agree with him.

As John untangled himself from the sheets, he felt the squish between his legs. An oddly familiar thing that, at any other point, may have sent John into a fit of tears. But right now, for some reason, John couldn’t find it in himself to care. The world was foggy and strange, and that kind of stuff just... didn’t matter. 

Mycroft stood at the dresser, pulling clothes out as Greg started to wake Sherlock. He wondered, for a moment, what he was supposed to do. He’d never been like this but that one time last week, and he didn’t wake up in this state. He was still tired, really. He rubbed at his eyes for a moment, pulling his blanket to his chest. 

“Hey, buddy. Let’s get you changed, huh?” Mycroft asked. John hadn’t noticed him walk over. 

“It looks like he’s just a bit out of it,” Greg commented. “Be careful.”

Mycroft nodded, offering a hand out for John to take. “It’s his first time waking up in headspace, he’s bound to be a little lethargic. He’ll get his energy back when he wakes up more.”

John heard the words, let them go through his thoughts, then pushed them out of the way. Adults were boring and confusing.

John was pulled to his feet by Mycroft, then led out of the room and down the hall a few doors and into the bathroom. Mycroft shut the door, then got to work on pulling John’s shirt and trousers off. John had a conscious moment of panic as the wet pull-up was revealed, but Mycroft simply tore the sides, pulled it through, balled it up, and tossed it into the trash bin as if it was nothing.

“Can you sit on the potty for me, please?” Mycroft asked.

John‘s eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on the toilet as he nodded his head. He padded over and sat down, waiting to see if anything happened. To his slight amazement, a steady stream let lose. John hadn’t even realized he really needed to go. He must be really tired.

When John was done, Mycroft helped him wash his hands.

“We’re gonna do a pull-up again today, okay? Just in case.” Mycroft asked, but John got a feeling it wasn’t really a question.

Still, John nodded his head and let Mycroft help him get dressed into a t shirt and another pair of overalls that had to be cuffed at the end. The fog was starting to clear from John’s head a little, and he blushed as he felt the odd thing between his legs. But Mycroft was a Dom, and that meant he knew better about this stuff than John. Right? 

John didn’t know. When he tried to think about it, his mind got all muddled. He decided it wasn’t worth it to think about. 

Mycroft led John back to Sherlock’s bedroom by the hand. When the door opened, John laughed at Sherlock as he wiggled into his clothes, looking like an inflatable man until his head and hands popped through the holes.

“Everyone dressed?” Mycroft asked. 

Greg nodded with a smile. “As much as they need to be.”

John smiled when Sherlock sent him a grin. Sherlock was cool. John really liked him. 

“Let’s get some breakfast.” Greg said as he gently pushed Sherlock towards the door.

Breakfast was simple and easy, and John was even able to eat it all. John didn’t always feel hungry, but seeing food in front of him right then made him feel like he hadn’t eaten in years. Mycroft had even warned him to take it a little slower before he ended up with a stomach ache.

After that John and Sherlock were shuffled into jackets and shoes, then out into the garage. John’s pulse quickened as he was buckled into the car, unsure of where they would be going. He was tempted to ask, but fear for being scolded kept his lips tight. Harry hated when he asked too many questions.

“I spy with my little eye something... green!” Sherlock shouted.

John flinched at the sound, but instantly started looking around for things that were green. He pointed to his jacket, which had green lines. 

“Nope!”

Eyes searching once more, John pointed to Greg’s sweater.

“Yup! You’re turn!”

John thought for a moment, thinking hard as he looked around the car. “Black.”

Sherlock pointed to several things before finally guessing right, then took his turn again. 

Before John knew it, the car had stopped and they were being unbuckled and pulled out of the car. John held tightly to Greg’s hand as they walked into what looked like a store that John has never seen before. The instant the doors opened, John was hit with a wave of noise and chatter. He flinched, using both his hands to cover his ears without letting go of Greg’s.

The main part of the store was filled with low shelves that John could see heads poking over. Littles ran from one isle to the next, waving around toys and clothes and begging and crying. Towards the center was a play area filled with slightly older Littles that were chasing circles around a playground that had nothing on the one at Mycroft’s. John’s heart sank at the thought of walking through all the commotion.

“It’s okay, buddy, we’re heading that way.” Greg pointed towards a part of the store that had a significantly less amount of people, and John was relived.

John didn’t realize why they were going to the quieter section until he saw a sign with “toddler” spelt out in pale building blocks. That was weird, though, cause Sherlock wasn’t a toddler. He was big, even if he did ask for a pull-up last night. He had lots of toys, too, so John wondered why they were at the store in the first place. Maybe he needed more clothes because John kept wearing them all.

Greg pulled John toward a row of clothes, seeming to scan them over.

“I wanna look at toys.” Sherlock said.

John looked over his shoulder to see Mycroft’s right grip on Sherlock’s hand as the Little wiggles around.

“You have plenty of toys, Sher.” Mycroft replied.

“I just wanna look!” Sherlock retorted, deciding to go simi-limp against Mycroft’s gold instead of pulling anymore.

“Sher, we’re here for John to get some clothes, okay.” Mycroft bent down, lifting Sherlock’s dead weight into his arms and onto his hip. Sherlock wiggled with a groan as if he wanted to be put down.

“Actually, it might not be a bad idea to get John some toys of his own.” Greg chirped in. 

John turned back to the man holding his hand and watched as Greg and Mycroft shared another look, the only indication to their silent conversation a slight chin lunge from Greg towards the small toy isle.

“Alright,” Mycroft relented, setting Sherlock back down but making sure to quickly grab the Littles hand. “Come on, John-John.”

John grabbed Mycroft’s proffered hand and followed him down a brightly lit isle with smiling faces on every box and bag. 

“John-John! Look at this one!” Sherlock pointed to a large farm house with little people and animal figures. “It could be part of our city!”

“Sher, let John pick out his own toys, please.” 

John looked at Mycroft, surprised. Surely the man hadn’t meant that John would be getting toys. There were tons back at the house.

Sherlock sighed, slumping down to the floor.

Mycroft kneeled down to be face-to-face with John. “Pick out anything you like, yeah.”

Still, John didn’t move. His eyes darted across the toys as his mind fogged a little more. He had no idea what to do or what to pick or how to tell anyone that he didn’t want to choose anything right now!

“John-John, it’s okay,” Mycroft said, running hands up and down either of John’s arms. “Just take a moment to breathe. I know this is a lot and I’m sorry to overwhelm you. We just thought you might like some of your own things so you didn’t always have to use Sher’s.”

John was surprised when he was being wrapped into a hug, but fell in to it naturally. Mycroft gave really nice hugs. But he pulled away and John was standing on his own again. 

“Now, I do think Sher had a good suggestion, don’t you?” Mycroft walked a few paces down the isle, ruffling Sherlock’s hair as he reached over the Little and pulled the toy off the shelf. When Mycroft returned, he held the toy out for John to exhume.

Sherlock was right. The little sheep and cow would make an excited addition to their city. But John wasn’t going to let them be destroyed by the dinosaurs and dragons. Maybe they farm would be a safe place for the creatures. John ran a finger over the farmer’s face, noting her apron and outstretched hand that seemed like it would hold one of the many accessories. 

“You think you want that one or do you want to look around some more?” Mycroft asked. 

John pressed the toy against his chest shaking his head. He wanted the farm house.

“See, I’m good at picking stuff.” Sherlock smiled as he stood back up.

“Well, Mr Picker, do you think you can grab John another toy he might like?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock looked as if he’d been given a golden metal with as bright as he smiled before taking off down the isle. Mycroft shouted at him to walk, but it seemed to go unnoticed. 

Mycroft shook his head with a bemused smile. “We should get back to Greg before the man buys more clothes than you could possibly wear.”

John giggled—actually giggled—as Mycroft held his hand out. John took it, and followed Mycroft back up the isle and towards where they had left Greg.

Greg looked up as they shuffled over, smiling. There were only a few items strung over his arm. “Find something you like?”

John nodded, holding up his farm.

“Oh, that does look very nice.” Greg smiled at John, then looked towards Mycroft. “Where’s Sherlock gotten to?”

“I asked him to pick out another toy for John.” Mycroft answered with a shrug. “Something to keep him busy for a moment.”

“And you let him walk around alone?” Greg asked.

“He’ll be okay, mama bear.”Mycroft playfully mocked. “He knows where to find us.”

Greg’s lips pursed, but he didn’t say anything else on the subject. “Is there anything else we might need whilst we’re here?”

“I know we need more pull-ups. We’re on our last few.” 

John heard them say a few more things, but his eyes were locked on a display of stuffed animals on the end of an isle several rows down. For some reason John would not be able to explain, he sat his toy farm down and started walking towards the display. Mycroft seemed to let his hand go at the slightest tug, and John was free to wonder off.

His head was foggy, but not like it had been that morning. He was confused, then. Lost, almost. Like his thoughts were muddled and he couldn’t make sense from up and down. But this was something else.

This was like that time on the playground with Sherlock where they had been running and John had forgotten all about... well, everything. His only thought had been right then, on chasing Sherlock down and tagging him. And right now, his only thought had been that he’d seen something he liked, and walked over to it. 

Big John would have hesitated. Would have looked to someone to see if they saw it, too. Or if they thought it was just as interesting. But Little John didn’t care. He liked it. 

John reaches up the display to pinch the fur of a tan bear between his fingers and feel the texture. It was okay, but not super nice. He then reached for a lamb that looked cute, but didn’t like how the fabric seemed to grab as his skin, even though it was soft. Finally, he spotted a stuffed bunny just out of his reach with a little bow around its neck. 

“Hey, buddy, you can’t go wondering off like that.” Mycroft said, scooping John up into his arms.

It was an interesting feeling, being carried. He didn’t feel like he was small enough for it to be possible, but it was. He remembered something about Doms being unreasonably strong, no matter their satire. But there was also the fact that Littles were just small and light. 

John wined in the back of his throat, flailing his feat as he lunged toward the display with his right hand.

Mycroft seemed ready for the movement, however, catching John before he fell into the floor. “John, please calm down.”

John huffed, head spinning from Mycroft to the bunny. 

“Do you like something up there?” Mycroft asked.

John nodded, pointing to the rabbit. 

“Ah, our little jumping friend, is it?” Mycroft asked, shifting John to one hip and plucking the rabbit from it’s place in one easy and practiced movement. 

John pulled the rabbit close to his chest, hugging it as tightly as he could. 

“Let’s not wonder off in the store again, yeah?” Mycroft asked.

John nodded, putting the rabbit under one arm before remembering what Sherlock had done and wiggled until Mycroft set him down. John’s hand was still being held, but he didn’t mind. He liked holding hands. He liked Mycroft and Greg and Sherlock and his new bunny.

As Mycroft walked back over to Greg, pulling John along, John just thought about how his blanket and rabbit were going to be the best or friends. They would cuddle together all night and fight off all bad dreams like Roman warriors. 

John didn’t really care about much after that. Greg was holding up clothes to John’s chest to see if they would fit, then holding up another pair of pants. John wasn’t really paying attention. Sherlock had come back and was driving Mycroft insane, which was a great thing to watch, really. John didn’t think he’d ever seen Mycroft flustered, but Sherlock knew just what to do to get him going without getting into trouble.

Soon enough, John was being buckled back into the car with his new rabbit in his lap. The shopping trip hadn’t been scary at all. John looked at his lap and gathered the stuffed bunny into his arms, holding it tightly once more. All of the walking around and giggling and laughing had worn John out. Big him could go on for days without sleep, but John was quickly realizing that he slept a lot when he was Little. 

He’d just take a quick shut-eye. Just whilst they were driving back to Mycroft’s. And then he’d be up by the time they pulled into the drive way and no one would have even known. 

Yup, just a few minutes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you all wanna see for Saturday afternoon play time? Any requests???


	4. Nap time, play time, and a heart-to-heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Been a hot sec, but the story is still on! 
> 
> I had someone request for more of supportive and cute Sherlock, so I got that in here at the end.
> 
> ALSO  
> If you haven’t already noticed, the “fog” that is talked about has to do with a stress drop. It’s the body’s override thing of “you need to take a break before you hurt yourself.” A normal headspace is just when they feel Little!

WaM 4

“Hey, sunshine,” John felt someone shaking his shoulder gently. “Time to wake up, big boy.”

John groaned, rubbing at his eyes as he stretched. He looked out the window to find the car parked in the garage at Mycroft’s again, right where they had started that morning.

Greg leaned over and clicked the button on John’s seat belt. “Come in, you can nap more in the play room.”

John shook his head as he got out of the car, bunny clutched to his chest. “Not a nap.”

“I’m sorry, were you just resting for a moment?” Greg asked. 

The light-hearted mocking went over John’s head as he nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “Jus’ for minute.” 

“Alright, well, let’s get inside so you can rest your eyes some more.” Greg said, clearly amused. 

John almost felt dead on his feet. Nothing wanted to cooperate and he tripped twice just trying to get up the stairs and into the house. When Greg gently pushed him to sit on a bench in the mud room next to Sherlock to get their shoes off, John was close to tears. Frustration and exhaustion mixing into something John couldn’t deal with. It all felt like too much. He squeezed his bunny closer to his chest and kicked at his shoes trying to get them off as quickly as possible. But Greg had tied them too well or something and they just wouldn’t come off.

Frustrated, John let out a screech and kicked and stomped against the floor with a few tears falling. And then Mycroft was in front of him, eye to eye.

“John-John, take a breath. I will take your shoes off, but you must keep your feet still. Do you think you can do that?” Mycroft asked, one hand bracing him against the bench, the other running through John’s hair.

John sniffled, nodding his head as his let his feet go limp. He tucked his face into his rabbit, letting more tears flow. He knew he shouldn’t be acting like this—he was Doctor Watson, a war hero, a solider. But... he didn’t want to be that right now. He just wanted to get his blanket and let it meet his new bunny and the world would be okay. 

“That’s a good boy. I know you’re tired, but we need to just take a moment to breathe.” Mycroft said softly. John had never realized how soft Mycroft’s voice could get sometimes. 

John didn’t feel a whole lot better when his feet were finally freed from his shoes, and he didn’t know what to do. Too many emotions were flowing through his head for his sluggish and tired brain to register. 

“May be best to just carry him,” came Greg’s whispering voice.

“I believe you are correct,” Mycroft replied at the same volume, standing up.

Before John could protest, he was being lifted by the armpits into Mycroft’s hip and carried down the hall. John felt like he shouldn’t be letting it happen, but he was too tired to care. He let his head fall against Mycroft’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting the natural gait relax him.

When the walking stopped, John let out a whine. It had been nice, and he didn’t want it to stop. And Mycroft was warm and nice. Something in John loved being able to have this kind of affection he had denied himself for so long. He was afraid that it would end and never happen again.

“It might be best to just walk him around until he’s back asleep.” Greg said from somewhere, the words hardly registering in John’s head as he started drifting again.

“Looks like Sher could use a rest, too. Go ahead and put on a cartoon in the play room and I’ll bring John-John in once I’m sure he’s asleep.” Mycroft answered.

John was sure Greg would have replied, but he was already too far gone to care. Bunny in hand and wrapped in Mycroft’s warmth, he was back out like a light.

John didn’t remember being placed down, but he must have been. When he woke, it was to the mid-afternoon sun shining in through the windows in the playroom. John blinked a few times, trying to decide if it was worth getting up just yet. He was warm, and he was content beyond what he thought would be possible. This must be what being Little was like for everyone—why they enjoyed it so much. His head was only a little foggy, but he could still feel his headspace was in full-force. 

“John-John?” 

John turned to find the source of the voice, finding Sherlock only a few feet away and covered in his own blanket on the padded mats that sat in front of the TV area.

“Lock?” John asked, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re up!” Sherlock cheered, jumping out from under his covers and standing up. “We can play!”

John smiled, rolling over to stand up when he felt it—the dampness. John’s heart sank as he looked at the mat and his pants only to find them... Dry? But he... and...

John was suddenly aware of a bulge between his legs and he could have broken down in tears right then had Sherlock not instantly noticed something amiss and sat down in front of him.

“John-John?” Sherlock asked. 

John’s eyes were growing hot as he looked up at Sherlock. He was a big boy, he didn’t wet himself at nap time. John didn’t want to be a baby! But with the way he was crying, it certainly looked that way, he was sure.

“Greg!” Sherlock called, standing back up to run to the door. “My!”

The playroom door opened, and John could see Greg walking toward him through the kelidascope of tears. John hated everything about this situation, but if anyone could fix it, it would be Greg.

“Hey, John-John.” Greg smiled, leaning down and picking John up, just like Mycroft had before John had fallen asleep. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” John cried. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for, but he felt like he needed to as tears fell down and soaked Greg’s shirt.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re okay. Just a quick change and it’ll all be okay!” Greg bounced John a bit as they walked out of the play room and down to the bathroom. “It’s really our fault. We should have gotten to to the bathroom before you fell asleep. We’re sorry.”

John wiped at his face at Greg placed him on the floor, reaching for John’s straps to unclasp them. 

“Didn’t man to...” 

“We know, sweetheart. But it’s okay. Accidents happen. That’s why we have pull-ups!” Greg smiled—actually smiled. After John had an accident. Smiled. “And, in two shakes, it’ll be all done!”

John didn’t know if that was true, but he really wished it was. He wanted nothing more than to forget about his night-time issues. But it also worried him on a small level. He’d had some incidents here and there, but he’d had more accidents today than in the past two months! What if it got worse when he was Big, too. 

“Hey, buddy.” Greg said, placing one hand on John’s cheek. “It’s okay. Littles have trouble sometimes. Even Sherlock has his days. But it doesn’t matter, because we will love you no matter what.”

John closed his eyes, letting the words sink in and wishing he had brought his bunny with him as his head started to fog up again. 

Just as Greg had promised, John was changed and back in the play room in under ten minutes, even with the pauses Greg took to reassure John at every step of the process. 

“I believe Mycroft set your new toys on that shelf.” Greg said, pointing to one of the lower shelves on the book cases in the back of the room. 

John grew excited, forgetting everything that just happens as he rushed to get across the room and to his new farm. Someone must have already opened the box because it sat on the shelf without any of the cardboard or plastic it had been kept in previously. John giggles when he pushed a button in the barn and a mooing sound erupted from the toy. 

“John-John! Wanna play dinosaurs again?” Sherlock asked, running over with his T-Rex in hand.

John nodded, then held out the barn house. “Dragon farm!”

“Okay!” Sherlock smiled.

They had pulled out the box of Legos and the one of blocks, setting up houses and structures Sherlock had proclaimed as sky scrapers. With cars placed around their make-shift city, they let the dinosaurs loose. 

Sherlock pulled army men from another bin, giving them Lego tanks to try and fight the dinosaurs, but it was no good. Even JI Joe was no match for their furosity!

After what felt like forever of playing their game, Sherlock sat down and patted the floor across from him. John took the hint and sat down, too.

“Are you having fun?” Sherlock asked. But this wasn’t quiet Little Sherlock anymore. He had that hint of know-it-all in his voice that only came with Big Sherlock. 

Still, John nodded.

Sherlock smiled. “I’m glad. I just... I wanted you to know that I’m having fun, too. This weekend has already been the best I’ve had in a long time.”

John looked at Sherlock intensely, wondering where this was coming from. Sherlock wasn’t usually a touchy-feely type.

“I... I don’t know... I want you to know that you’re wanted here. You’re not a burden. And you can be as Little or as Big as you like. No one here is going to get upset with you.”

Oh. Sherlock was still reading him mind. John looked down, picking at the fabrics of the carpet. He shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how to respond.

“I heard Greg talking about getting you a real bed here. He said if you were going to join us more, you should have your own room.” Sherlock stood up and walked across the room toward the TV area. “And My said they should let you choose how to decorate it, but Greg thought that may be too much all at once.”

John watched as Sherlock picked up the abandoned stuffed rabbit, walking it back. 

“And there’s not always a lot to do, but...” Sherlock paused as he sat down across from John again. “I really like having you here.”

John was a bit awe-struck with how bare Sherlock was being with his emotions. There they were, giving John every opportunity to shove them right back into Sherlock’s face. But Sherlock trusted John, more than ever before. And John... he trusted Sherlock more than ever, too. 

Sherlock held out the bunny, giving John a soft smile.

John was about to grab the rabbit before realizing that he wanted a hug from someone else first. John lunged forward, half landing in Sherlock’s lap as he wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around Sherlock’s torso.

Sherlock seemed to be taken aback at first, but quickly recovered and was squeezing John right back. 

John felt like he could have stayed here forever, floating between headspaces and clinging tightly to Sherlock. It was the happiest he had been in a long time.

But, he knew it couldn’t last forever...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Nigh Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m super tired, but I finally put the final touches on this chapter! Hope y’all enjoy!

WaM 5

Bedtime.

Apparently, Sherlock hated the word. He was running around the house and being chased by Mycroft as Greg took John upstairs. Sherlock looked like he was having fun, and John would have loved to join had it not been for the exhaustion that had him following Greg like a duckling would its mother.

They stopped by the bathroom again, which made John blush a deep red. He did need to go now that they were standing in the bathroom, but he’d forgotten all about it until then. Greg didn’t seem to think anything about it, though, and that eased some of John’s insecurities, but not by much.

Mycroft must have finally caught up to Sherlock because the Little was now standing in his room, looking thoroughly scorned as Mycroft pulled off his shirt. 

Greg started undressing John, which John knew shouldn’t be okay—he shouldn’t be okay with it—but he found he didn’t mind. His Little side seem to have dexterity issue, as he has discovered at dinner when we went to reach for his drink and dropped it down his shirt. Most of it landed on the floor, but John still had to change shirts.

“Can we have a story!” Sherlock asked when his head popped out of the sleep shirt Mycroft was dressing him in. His curls spun around madly until settling on his head.

“That’s bold of you to ask after miss behaving.” Mycroft said sternly. 

Sherlock looked to Greg with a pout, and even John could see how the game would go. Sherlock has acted up and wouldn’t get what he wanted, even after asking Greg, the softer of the two. But John would be lying if he said he didn’t want a story.

It took a moment to muster up the courage to say anything, but as his shirt was slipped off his head he looked at Greg and softly said, “I wanna story, please.”

Greg paused for a moment, sighing. He looked over to Mycroft for a moment, doing that thing were they talk without ever saying a word before turning to Sherlock.

“One story, boys. One.” Greg emphasized by putting up his pointer finger. 

Sherlock cheered across the room and John smiled brightly. He hoped they would get a long one. 

When they were finally dressed and tucked into bed, John’s blanket and bunny held firmly to his chest, Greg pulled a book off Sherlock’s rocket ship bookshelf.

John didn’t recognize the story, but he listened readily. Sherlock would stop Greg and ask questions every now-and-then, but John found he didn’t mind. It was calm and domestic, something he’d never really had before. Maybe this Little thing wasn’t so bad if he’d get to do this. Just lay and listen. 

There were a few times through his and Sherlock’s play time that John had simply forgotten about his Big side. He wasn’t Doctor John Watson, war hero, detective, adult. He was John-John, a boy who just wanted to play dinosaurs and snuggle his new stuffed rabbit. John has forgotten everything Harry and his father had ever said about Little and just had fun in a way he never had before. 

It was with these happy thoughts floating around in his head that he’d fallen asleep after Greg and Mycroft has wished them a good night and kissed their foreheads. He was at peace.

But when he jolted awake covered in sweat, he couldn’t figure out where he was. It was dark, everything was dark. His thrashing did nothing to untangle him from his confines and it took everything in his to scramble away when he finally did. He fell to the ground, giving his hands a rash on the carpet as he tried to brace himself. 

He was too foggy to think straight, and John couldn’t shake himself of it. A high screech was coming from somewhere, echoing around the room and boring into his ears like a knife. He looked around frantically, looking for any sign of light. 

There, by the floor was a small line, and John darted for it. He tackled the door open and was met with a bright light that shocked his eyes into not seeing the person in front of him. He almost fell again, but hands kept him upright and instantly wrapped around him.

John struggled, still panicking as the hands squeezed him closer. John could feel his heartbeat, racing in his chest and ringing in his ears. The screeching had stopped and left a white noise that made his ears ring.

“John, John, it’s okay. It’s okay.” John heard someone say.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.”

A hand was rubbing up and down his back, something John could feel through his panic besides his heart beat.

“Breathe with me, bud,” the voice said. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

John recognized that voice. He knew it was safe and warm. It was a safe person, then. John didn’t have many safe people, but this seemed like one. He was still fuzzy, but all of the adrenaline seemed to leave his system just as quickly as it had come.

John’s legs gave out, but the person seemed ready for it, quickly scooping him up. 

“There we go, take a breath. You’re okay.” 

John closed his eyes and let his head fall into the person’s shoulders as the tears came, pouring from his eyes and soaking the person’s shirt. The smell was familiar, too. 

“Cry it all out, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

The rocking and petting and hugs were working, and before John even knew it, he was closing his eyes and falling into Mycroft like a limp noodle. And yes, it was Mycroft. The faint smell of a pipe on his robes, mixing with something John couldn’t put his finger on that was just distinctly Mycroft.

“My?” Sherlock asked softly. 

“He’s okay, Sher. Just a nightmare.” Mycroft said softly, removing one hand from John’s back.

John supposed Mycroft must have grabbed Sherlock’s hand because they had started walking down the hall and away from Sherlock’s room. 

Greg met them in the hall, and John looked up to see Greg lift Sherlock onto his hip and continue walking.

Soon enough, they were in a room even bigger than Sherlock’s—which John didn’t think was possible—and Mycroft was walking into a room right off it as Greg sat Sherlock down on the bed an little roughly, making Sherlock laugh.

John was placed into the floor for reasons unknown to him. When Mycroft reached under the sink and pulled out a familiar looking bag, John’s heart sank. He looked down to find his pants were dry, but he could feel the difference in his gait that could only be drone one thing.

John found himself crying all over again, unable to stop even as Mycroft set the package down and picked John back up.

“It happens, sweetheart. It’s okay. That’s why we have these things.” Mycroft whispered gently.

John shook his head. Maybe it happened, but it should only happen to someone else. John was... John was... Well, he wasn’t sure what he was. But he knew he shouldn’t be wetting the bed. Sherlock didn’t do that, so John shouldn’t either.

Eventually, he’d cried himself dry. He was exhausted and tired, clinging to Mycroft like a lifeline. He would have cried when Mycroft sat him down, but John didn’t think it was physically possible for him to cry any more. 

He was changed and dressed and laying in a bed in what must have been seconds because John didn’t remember laying down. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter.

He could hear Greg huff as he laid down, saying, “The screaming almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Must be night terrors. Not surprising after everything he’s been through.” Mycroft responded. 

John could feel finger gliding though his hair and turned his head a bit so the hand could reach more of his head.

“I wonder if he’ll remember it in the morning.” 

John was lulled awake the next morning, too comfortable and warm to care about anything else in the world. He slowly cracked his eyes open to the morning sun streaming through the windows in an unfamiliar room.

John sat up, finding himself alone in the room. He rubbed at his eyes, then spotted his rabbit and blanket and squeezed them close to his chest and he kicked around in the blankets and off the bed. Once on his own two feet, he padded towards the door and cracked it open just enough to see the dark wood of the hallway. Finding no one walking by, John crept through a small opening in the door and closed it behind him.

John wasn’t really sure why he was wondering around, if he was being honest. He supposed he was looking for someone, but that wasn’t really it. It was mostly just fun to walk around and explore a new place. Mycroft’s house was safe, so he wasn’t afraid to be alone (although he was a bit worried about getting lost). He’d only been escorted around the house, though, and that didn’t seem like much fun at all when Sherlock knew the whole place.

John passed a lot of rooms, all with heavy-looking wood doors with large decorative panels. The red carpet under John’s feet kept them from touching the cold hardwood that was exposed on either side. There was artwork everywhere, and John was floored by the idea of how much money Mycroft must make to afford it all. Every few doors there would be a fake plant—John knew the feeling of plant and plastic, even while Little—and a seemingly endless maze of rooms, art, lights, and even a suit of armor. When John came to a familiar door, he smiled. He had no clue how he’d gotten to that point, but the door at the top of the stairs was definatly Sherlock’s with a rocket ship sticker on the front.

John charged forward and reached for the handle, pulling the door open. He had been expecting?Sherlock to be in the room, but all he was met with was a small pile of toys that hadn’t been picked up and an unmade trundle bed. John though hard about why he hadn’t woken up in the room, but he couldn’t remember. Well, he didn’t much care, either. 

Just as John was reaching for Sherlock’s dresser to start going through it, the door opened.

“John-John, there you are.” Mycroft let out a relived huff. “We didn’t realize you’d woken up.”

John smiled at Mycroft, holding up his bunny and blanket. “Adventure.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded his head, “They do look like adventurers. Let’s get dressed for breakfast whilst we’re up here, hm?”

John looked down at his pajamas. He liked them, but he was a big boy and big kids don’t stay in pajamas all day. Maybe they’d do fun stuff today. John really hoped he and Sherlock could play their game again.


	6. Sunday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this fic! Long as shit cause I’m too lazy to split it! Hope you all enjoy! And stick around for the next story! (Cause this ain’t the last one in the series!!!)

WaM6

John wasn’t sure what was going on anymore. He felt... weird. But not wrong. Just different. But he liked it. The world seemed a lot different when he looked around. Yes, it was harder to move around and John felt much more wobbly, but he also had so much more fun. It’s was almost like having a good buzz, but without the worry of what would be coming the next morning.

Breakfast had passed without incident. Well, almost without incident. Greg had asked for John to set down his rabbit and blanket whilst at the table, but John didn’t want to. After several minutes of debate, Greg had decided to let John leave them on the floor where they could be seen but not played with. They had then enjoyed an easy breakfast of pancakes.

Mycroft didn’t seem to like it very much, but that seemed to come from Sherlock eating everything with his hands and not the rabbit. 

Greg had taken John to the bathroom again, something John was starting to understand was just going to happen whether he liked it or not. But, it didn’t really matter. Because John did need to go, he’d just forgotten about it until he was standing in the bathroom with Greg. 

Now John sat in the playroom, thumbing through a picture book with Sherlock sitting beside him. It was quiet, save for the sound of Sherlock’s occasional sucking from a sippy cup he’d asked Greg for. John had his rabbit tucked tightly between his chest and the floor, blanket placed over his shoulders. He could feel his eye lids getting heavier every minute, but he wanted to read with Sherlock.

Maybe that was part of headspace, John thought for a moment. Wanting to just sit around and maybe take a nap. John was always wishing he could take a nap when he was at the office. Long days made it hard to keep going all day. He would almost always crash right after work. He’d wake up from Sherlock demanding his help on one thing or another an hour later and feel a thousand times better.

“John-John,” Sherlock whispered, poking him in the shoulder. “John-John.”

John groaned, cracking his eyes open to look at Sherlock as he rolled over onto his back and looked at John upside-down. That made John giggle as he pulled his rabbit closer to his face, rubbing the fur with his cheek. 

“Wanna play dragons?” Sherlock asked.

Well, John wasn’t really sure he did. He was really tired. But his need to please Sherlock won over his sleepiness and he nodded his head. 

Sherlock smiled, taking a sip from the spout of his cup. John was too busy sitting up on his own to notice the way Sherlock has stopped dead. When John was standing, he heard Sherlock’s muffled cries and whipped around to see what happened. 

In Sherlock’s right hand was the cup, and on the floor was the lid. Down Sherlock’s chest was the entirety of what had been left.

If John knew anything, it’s that Sherlock didn’t mind a mess. He had never cared about messes he made in the apartment or in his room. He needed to be told several times to clean something before he ever would. But that was the room. Sherlock hated to have a mess on him. Mud, rain water, dirt, sand, none of it. Even if he sometimes dunked his hand in food, he would immediately demand a napkin to wash it off.  
John was making a bet that whatever had been in the cup was surgery and that meant it was sticky. Sherlock hated sticky.

Sherlock wasn’t sobbing, but his face was red and he had fat tears rolling down his face. John didn’t know what to do, but he was quick to kick his blanket that had fallen off his shoulders when he stood away from the growing puddle as the juice dropped off Sherlock’s clothes and onto the floor. John didn’t know if he should call for help, or if it would even come if he did. He didn’t know how to help Sherlock and John just felt so small and helpless as he clutched his rabbit close to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.

And then there was a hand on John’s shoulder, causing him to jump and stare wide-eyed at the person in front of him. It was Mycroft. John was so relieved he could have cried as he lurched forward and clung to Mycroft like his life depended on it. John looked over Mycroft’s shoulders to see Greg walking Sherlock over to a set of drawers on the wall with the door as Greg held a towel to Sherlock’s chest to keep him from dripping.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay,” Mycroft whispered as he hoisted John onto his hip and rocked gently. “It’s okay. Just a bit of juice. No harm done.”

John nodded, letting his head fall onto Mycroft’s shoulder. He was still tired, maybe more now than he had been on the floor, but he wanted to play dragons with Sherlock more than he wanted sleep. John watched as Greg helped Sherlock pull off the wet clothes and put on fresh ones. He could hear the fait murmur of a light scolding, but it didn’t seem like Greg was really angry.

They walked back over, Greg’s right hand on Sherlock’s back to guide him straight to Mycroft.

“He said he had pulled off the lip to see how much was left and spilled it as John was standing up.” Greg sighed, letting his hand drop form Sherlock’s back. 

“Sherlock, you know better than to pull of the lid.” Mycroft said. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said softly as his eyes were stuck to the floor. 

“I forgive you. Please don’t do it again.” Mycroft answered.

Sherlock nodded his head and that was it.

John was almost startled. Sherlock had done something wrong and made a mess and Mycroft and Greg just forgave him without any punishment? But then how would Sherlock learn his lesson? 

Before he could ask, Mycroft was moving to set John down. John took his footing and leaned back to give Mycroft space to stand. When John looked up, Mycroft’s face looked a bit different. More colorful. He had been really pale standing in front of John earlier. John didn’t know why, but Mycroft looked better now.

I’m a few short moments, John and Sherlock were the only ones left in the room. John squeezed his rabbit, the room suddenly feeling too large without the other two men.

“I think you scared them.” Sherlock said from behind John.

John turned to look at Sherlock with a questioning look.

“You seemed really scared.” Sherlock said, as if that would explain everything.

When John didn’t say anything else, Sherlock seemed to understand that John hadn’t a clue what Sherlock was talking about. 

“When Littles get scared, it sends out some kind of signal. Science doesn’t even understand it, though they think it’s a hormone that’s released. But it tells Caregivers and some Doms that you’re distressed. It’s like a 999 number for people around you.” Sherlock wasn’t fully Little anymore, John could tell. 

“How’come I’ve never heard of it?” John asked. His speech was slurred together in a way his hadn’t been before. He wasn’t sure what to think of that.

“Maybe you just hadn’t noticed.” Sherlock shrugged, wiping invisible dirt off his clothes. “Wanna play dragons?”

How Sherlock was able to turn his Little on and off again like that, John would never know.

They played as they normally did, setting up the city and adding more and more as they went. It all seemed be going okay until John accidentally knocked down one of Sherlock’s buildings. Even though John apologized and tried to help fix it, Sherlock wasn’t listening to John as much, didn’t want to pretend the way John did. Sherlock would crash into buildings that John didn’t want knocked down. He even threw one of the cars at John’s brand-new farm house, which earned Sherlock a car thrown toward his head. John Watson may be an expert marksman, but John didn’t have any idea how to aim other than to throw in the general area of the target. The car completely missed, but John didn’t care. He didn’t want to play with Sherlock if he was going to be mean, and he said so as he stomped off with his dragon in his hand.

“You’re being mean!” Sherlock yelled back. “You knocked down my tower!”

“I said I was sorry!” John’s voice cracked as he yelled back. “An’ you knocked down mine!”

“You started it!” Sherlock said, throwing his dragon at the floor. He stomped across the room, reaching for John’s hands and the drangon held between them. “Its mine! Give it back.”

“No!” John’s eyes were burning with tears as he held tight to the toy. Sherlock tried to pry John’s fingers open, only making John hold on tighter as he tried to shake Sherlock off. “No!”

Sherlock gave up, scowling at John before pushing him in the chest and almost knocking John down. And then John was crying as Sherlock stormed back to the toys.

Sherlock pulled out what must have been every bin of toys the bookshelves lining the back of the room had to offer. John wasn’t sure why, even as Sherlock started to pour toys out of bins and onto the floor where he then started to kick them around. 

“Dumb, stupid, stupid, stupid!” Sherlock yelled as he kicked the toys harder, chucking some of them across the room and towards John.

John watched Sherlock pick a few of the toys up and throw them at the wall. John screamed at him to stop, but Sherlock didn’t seem to hear—or just didn’t care. When Sherlock had thrown a wooden block across the room, John had barely ducked in time to dive away from what most-definatly would have been a good knock on the head.

John took cover under the reading table, just barely able to see Sherlock as he pulled more bins off the shelf and threw them on the floor. Across the floor he could see his rabbit on the bean bags and wished with everything in him that he hadn’t left it there to play dragons.

“No no no no no nonononono NO!” Sherlock screamed. He looked wildly around the room. 

Sherlock stomped around the room like a bull in a pen, kicking at toys and screaming. John didn’t know what was going on, and with fat tears rolling down his face, he wasn’t able to see anything clearly.

A star must have been shining on John because the playroom door opened up and Mycroft’s voice boomed across the room.

“What do you think you are doing, Sherlock?” 

John could see Sherlock stop dead, his face paling slightly. Sherlock turned around to face Mycroft, then looked around the room.

“This is absolutely not acceptable.” Mycroft said sternly as he walked a few steps into the room. “Throwing a fit and tossing your things about the room. Come here, now.”

Sherlock must have gained a second wind because he went right back to kicking things around. “No no no no NO!”

His hands were flapping at his sides, something John had only seen Sherlock do a few times. It meant he was overwhelmed, too many things going on for him to pull apart one piece at a time as he normally did. John pulled himself away from under the table. He was still Little, but maybe he could help.

“John-John?” Mycroft said softly, a look of sympathy across his face.

John let out a sob, wanting to run for Mycroft, but a Hot-wheel landing square on his chest knocked him onto his butt, shocking him to tears. He had just wanted to help and Sherlock was being mean! John didn’t understand what was going on and Sherlock was being so loud. Then John was just screaming too, not sure of what else to do.

His eyes were turned into kelidascopes with tears and he could barely see as Greg walked in and told Mycroft something John couldn’t hear. Next thing John knew, he was in the hallway being rocked and sushed by Mycroft. The playroom door was closed and John could still hear Sherlock’s muffled cries, but John didn’t think he really cared. His head was too clouded, his body too jerky. Nothing seemed to be listening to him, and his chest hurt to top it all off. 

“John-John, we need to calm down.” Mycroft whispered. “We need to take a deep breath and calm down.”

John didn’t think he could. His head was almost too fuzzy to focus on the words. 

“We’re gonna stay calm and breathe slowly. It’s all going to be okay.” Mycroft was rocking a bit faster than he normally did, and John could almost sense his stress. 

John took a deep breath in as Mycroft did, but he wasn’t able to hold it as long as Mycroft did. John was running on pure trust, unsure of what they were doing and head too foggy to think for himself. Mycroft was telling John what to do and John simply did. There was no other thought. The fog stayed close, but John was slowly more aware of what was going on. 

John wiped his face with the back of his hand, letting his head flop against Mycroft’s shoulders. The fuzziness was leaving and now John just felt Little. Really Little, not floating around between the two. As far as he could feel, he was no more useful that an actual child. He was confused and scared and he wanted his rabbit and blanket, but he had Mycroft and that kind of helped.

A door opened and suddenly they were moving. John must have been dozing because it only seemed like a moment or two before he was back in the play room. John cracked his eyes open for a moment, but didn’t really see anything and decided to let them close again.

“We will need to implement a nap-time from here on out.” Greg said. John heard the shuffle of fabric and he could guess that Greg may be holding Sherlock the same way Mycroft was holding John.

“We’re lucky John is as pliable as he is. That could have ended in a much different way.” Mycroft said.

“We can punish them both later. They need some sleep, first.” Greg said.

John could feel as they started moving, but made no movement to tell the adults that he wasn’t asleep. 

“Cleaning the playroom will be punishment enough. Anything more and they won’t understand why they’re being punished.” Mycroft answered.

That didn’t sound like any fun to John, but he didn’t care enough to say anything. He was starting to hear less and less of their conversation as he lost the battle to sleep. 

He woke momentarily as he could feel someone taking his clothes off. He stired, too tired to even let out a whine as they pulled the overalls off. And then the pull-up came off and John learned why they were changing him. 

“Shu, it’s okay.” Mycroft whispered softly as John shifted in shame and embarrassment. “Just getting you clean for a good nap.”

John stilled, head telling him to just not care. John was too tired to fight back as Mycroft cleaned him up and changed him. It didn’t matter anyway. 

Waking up was an odd sensation after all of the crying from earlier in the day. His eyes still felt swollen, and his head felt a little heavy, but he didn’t feel bad. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he looked around. He was back in Sherlock’s room, the afternoon sun beaming through the window curtains and casting light across the room. 

Sherlock was in his bed, rolled onto his stomach with one hand curled by his mouth and the other above his head. It almost looked like he was sucking his thumb, but there was no way that would be possible. Sherlock was too big for that... right?

John’s eyes were drawn to the toy box on the other side of the room, and he didn’t even hesitate to slide out of bed and walk over to it. He sat down on his knees and reached to push it open, finding a few rocket ships and a bin of Legos inside. Nothing too interesting. There were still figures scattered across the floor, so John went around and picked up as many as he could. A few cartoon characters, some superhero’s, and what looked like army Barbie dolls. John put them all in the toy bin, trying to be as quiet as possible to make sure he didn’t wake Sherlock. 

In all his searching and cleaning, he hadn’t realized something very important was missing. John took in a sharp breath of air, eyes scanning the room madly. When he didn’t immediately see anything, John ran across the room to check around his cot, then threw the covers back to look. But his rabbit was nowhere to be found.

Had you told John Watson a month ago that he would be attached to any kind of toy—much less a stuffed rabbit—he would have punched you in the face right then and there. But John and John Watson were two very different people, it seemed. And right now, it was John who felt tears spring into his eyes as he looked around. He had no idea where his rabbit would be and that just made him miss the toy more.

“John-John?” Sherlock whispered from John’s left.

John’s head snapped around to look at Sherlock’s sleepy face. His cheek was marked from where he’d fallen asleep in some toy or another. 

Sherlock sat up, a look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

John want even able to get a word out before he broke down into sobs, trying his best to tell Sherlock that his rabbit was missing, but nothing was coming out over his wails.

“Shu, John-John.” Sherlock moves off the bed, sitting across from John. “I’m sorry I was mean. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

John shook his head, collapsing to the floor. He didn’t care about Sherlock being mean, he just wanted his rabbit.

“No, John-John, I mean it. I’m sorry.” Sherlock inched forward, tilting his head to get a closer look at John. “I’m sorry.”

John wipes at his nose as he shook his head again. “Don’t care,” he sounded out between gasps of air and sobs. 

Sherlock’s face seemed to have fallen ever farther, if that was possible. “I mean it, I really am—“

Sherlock was cut short by a knock on the door before it opened. Greg stood in the entryway, looking between Sherlock and John.

“What happened?” Greg asked, his voice a bit harsh and causing John to flinch and cry harder.

Greg moved forward, scooping John up and into his arms. “Did you have a bad dream again?” 

John let out a gargled screen, frustrated that no one was understanding what was wrong. How did they not understand! His rabbit wasn’t with his and that meant it was missing and they needed to find him! But he was crying too hard to say any of that. 

Instead, John managed a stuttered “R-r-rabbit!

“Oh, Rabbit is missing? Is that what’s wrong?” Greg asked, pushing John back a bit in a clear attempt to see John better. But John refused, keeping his cheek tucked and not acknowledging the man holding him at all.

“I think he’s in the play room!” Sherlock shouted. “In the reading corner!” 

“Let’s go see if we can find him, yeah?” Greg bounced John a few times, effectively distracting him just enough to take away the more heart-wrenching sobs. “First, we need a change. And then you two can get started on cleaning it.”

Sherlock groaned, head thrown back dramatically. Somehow, though, he didn’t say anything else about not wanting to do it. John supposed it was because Sherlock May feel guilty about the mess in the first place, but had no evidence to back it up.

Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to John that the “change” was for him and not to the room in general. He was somehow mortified and not at the same time to realize he’d wet himself and hadn’t even really notice it until Greg pointed it out. He was certain he hadn’t needed to go when He woke up, because he’d thought about it for a moment and decided he didn’t. But it would make sense if he had wet himself whilst sleeping again. It wouldn’t be the first time. Although, why he hadn’t notice a wet pull-up first thing was still a question floating in his head.

The answer came a moment later when Greg has pulled down John’s pants to reveal a strangely-familiar set of tabs wrapping around from the sides and sticking to the front. Had they... did they... was John... a diaper?!?

Now John wanted his bunny more than ever, just to give him one thing to hide his face in as Greg asked him to lay down. John didn’t know if he appreciated that Greg was treating this as just another Little thing or not. Greg seemed so nonchalant as he pulled the tabs apart, pulled off the wet diaper, then helped John stand up to slip into a pull-up.

“We wanted to ask before using the diapers, but you seemed too tired to stand for another pull-up. And it looks like it helped you sleep a bit better, huh.” Greg smiles as he ran his thumbs just used John’s eyes. 

There was a small part of John that hated how well he had slept, how he hadn’t noticed at all because the diapers wicked away wetness where the pull-ups didn’t have the absorbency for. He would never admit that to anyone, though.

After washed hands and redressed Littles, they were back on their way.

Sure enough, there was the stuffed bunny, still under the table on it’s back. John wiggled roughly until he was put down, and then ran for his friend. 

After a long moment of cuddle time, John held his rabbit under his left arm as he started to clean up and put away everything on the floor. He found he didn’t mind it all that much at all. Sherlock has somehow made it fun by playing games the whole time. Greg had pulled up a seat to watch as Sherlock and John did as they were told, but made comment about the manor in which it was being done. 

When the room was finally put away, Sherlock and John followed Greg out of the playroom and around the halls and corridors to what John recognized as the kitchen door. John’s stomach rumbles just as the walked in the door and his nose was overcome with the smell of basil. He giggled as Sherlock as he bolted across the room to look into the pot on the stove, only to be quickly and gently shoved away from it. 

“Too hot for Littles. Grab a seat at the table and it’ll be ready in a minute.” Mycroft said, pointing with a wooden spoon towards the table. 

Sherlock sighed in resignation, walking back to the table.

John took his normal seat, his stuffed rabbit still held tightly to his chest. Cleaning had taken most of the afternoon, and he supposed this would be their “age up” meal. Something plain and easy to help bring them out of their Little headspaces gently. Littles were required to be taken out of their headspaces like that, but there was research to back up the idea that it really does help the Little sand Caregivers that use it. Keeps away the sudden shock and withdraw.

So, when John was given a ceramic plate filled with spaghetti and meatballs and a regular fork, he wasn’t surprised at all. John took the fork in his hand, not really able to hold it right. John looked over at Sherlock as he ate, then towards Greg and Mycroft. None of them seemed to be having trouble. So John held the fork as steady as he could, and lifted some of the food toward his mouth. John stares at his food as if it had just spouted insults about his mother.

John tried again. And again. And again. There was a fair amunt of sauce on his face and shirt, but almost none of it had gotten to his mouth. The one bite he had managed was from using his hands when the pasta was falling off the side of his fork.

“John, are you okay?” Sherlock was the first to ask.

John looked up, fork in his mouth just for the sauce at this point. He nodded his head, pulling the fork out of his mouth and back into his food. 

“John, this is supposed to ease you out of headspace.” Mycroft scorned as he reach of a napkin and handed it to John. “How did you get sauce behind your ear?”

John shrugged, letting go of his fork.  
He looked over to his rabbit waiting patiently for him to finish eating. But John wasn’t really that hungry and he missed his rabbit.

“John, sweetheart, what’s going on? You don’t seem very big.” Greg pushes again.

John looked up. Well, duh. He sucked as an adult. Being Little meant he got to keep his rabbit and blankie! But, wait... no... he was supposed to be Big. He needed to be Big. But how was he supposed to be Big when he wasn’t even sure how he got to be Little! 

John looked around, terrified. 

“I don’t think he can get out of headspace.” Greg said, almost dropping his fork onto his plate. 

John felt his eyes become hot as everyone stared at him. It was Sunday night. They need to get home, get to bed, get ready for work. But John was trapped in headspace.

And he didn’t know how to get out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes. It’s really late. XD

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna see something!?! Just ask! Leave a comment and I’ll see what I can do! ❤️


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